


Blood In The Cut

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Biting, Blood, F/M, Knives, Love/Hate, Rivals, Unhealthy Relationships, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, physical fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 06:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18585676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: “You open your mouth to reply but Hara's already moving, shifting his arm and sweeping the sharp edge of his favorite knife over the delicate curve of your bare shoulder. The pain comes quick but his movements come faster and before you have an opportunity to strike, Hara's pinning you up against the wall with the sharp angle of his hips. He slams the hilt of his knife against the brick near the side of your head and stares into you like he's made from violence itself.” With each interaction, Hara and reader become more physically aggressive toward each other. It's only a matter of time before someone gets seriously hurt.





	Blood In The Cut

The city lights are bright against the backdrop of the night sky, black as ink and as ominous as the untraceable static that hums through tonight's air. You're taken by their beauty and dragged by the wind as you walk in the direction of your home. Each step echoes in your ears as the heels of your shoes gossip with the soiled pavement underneath your feet. You pass the stagnant stench of abandoned alleyways and the figurative smoke screens that have been released in an attempt to conceal the illicit acts as dirty as the filth that dapples the cement.

The wind changes its direction but it's not enough to blow away the redolence of shame and desperation. Something wet stipples your cheek and when you turn your head up to the blanket of night, you note that it's beginning to drizzle. It's as light and nondescript as a tenuous thread, stretching thin and barely visible. Still, it's enough to give birth to a cloudlike aggregation of minute water droplets, not quite dense enough to name it fog but just the right amount of haze to be deemed a mist.

The damp sticks to the exposed areas of your flesh and you wear the droplets like a second skin. You're lost in thought when you round the corner—a large building slopes toward the sidewalk and several people walk past you, talking idly. A red light reflects off the street, cut by a car that speeds through the intersection to briefly claim the cardinal illumination for itself. Then, a familiar voice shatters your concentration and you quickly come to your senses.

“Well look who's out and about, lurking around and looking for trouble. Where's the rest of your little gang?”

As if the stoplight wasn't capable of leaving a bright enough imprint on your vision, the person standing in front of you has you seeing red before your next hitch of breath. Your eyes flicker from Hanamiya to Seto, then to the speaker, with his purple hair and a twisted smirk on his lips.

“I could ask you the same thing. You seem to be missing part of your _crew_. I would hope that they've finally seen reason and moved on and away from you, but that would be akin to you getting your head out of your ass, and seeing as that's never going to happen, I suppose they'll be meeting up with you soon.” You cross your arms over your chest and needlessly brace yourself for Hara's rebuttal. You can't recall the last time Hara's words hurt you, however, they still have a way of digging their way past the topmost layers of your dermis to eventually poison your bloodstream.

“Just dropped them off actually,” Hara says, his tone a shiver of arrogance against his tongue. “If you're going to try to hurl insults at me, the least you could do is get your facts straight.”

“I don't care enough about you to bother,” is your answer, flat and thick with disinterest. “You're just a waste of my time.”

“If he's such a waste of your time, why do you always take minutes out of your _precious_ days to engage in conversation with him?” Hanamiya raises an eyebrow and twirls what appears to be a switchblade between his fingers.

You exhale a huff of breath through your nose in an expression of aversion and shift your eyes to Hanamiya's cold stare. “If you paid attention once in a while, you'd notice that he approaches me _first_.” You lower your gaze pointedly and furrow your eyebrows at the weapon in the inky-haired boy's hand. “Is that supposed to intimidate me?” you drawl, sounding bored.

Hanamiya lifts his shoulders in the barest hint of a shrug and slides his tongue over the dry of his lips. “I wouldn't bother trying to intimidate you—I'm not the one who's interested in you. You're more blood-and-thunder than I care to deal with. I prefer obedience to theatrics and every time we run into you, you have to put on a fucking show.”

Seto utters something that sounds like _that's a bit hypocritical_ and you don't bother biting back a smile when Hanamiya turns his head to glare at him. “If I was going to bother putting on a show, I'd make it a lot more interesting than having a meaningless conversation with a group of losers like you,” you tell him.

Hara steps forward and you can't see what he's thinking behind the curtain of hair that hides his eyes, but you know him well enough to guess that he's hoping you cave this time—but you don't and you never will if you have anything to do with it. You firmly stand your ground and tilt your head back in a gesture of natural-born confidence.

“You're always giving some kind of histrionic performance, you don't even have to try,” Hara says, almost spitting the statement in your face. “The way you speak, the way you act, the way you _dress_ ,” he hisses, his eyes dragging disgust down your rigid frame. “If I didn't know better, I'd say that you're practically _begging_ for someone to play your games.”

“I don't beg,” you snap, articulating each word with sharp venom as you take a step forward to make yourself appear taller. “And if I remember correctly, these haven't been _my_ games we've been playing. You started this war. All I did was get in bed with Imayoshi. I still don't understand how my friendship with him has anything to do with you—what I do is none of your business.”

“Are you telling me that you _actually_ slept with that four-eyed bastard?” Hara scoffs, his lip curling upward and into a crooked sneer. “I might hate you but even I didn't think you'd stoop that low.”

“It's an expression, asshole. I don't fuck people just for fun,” you retort, biting and cruel.

“So what _do_ you fuck them for?” Hanamiya asks, sarcasm dripping from his teeth. “Money? Status? Boredom?”

“Daddy issues?” Seto tosses in, albeit halfheartedly. It's plain to see that this conversation has long since grown stale to him. You expect that if he had any say in it, he'd already be on his way to wherever it is they were headed before your untimely intervention.

“I don't plan on fucking any of you, so it's really none of your concern now, is it?” You tilt your head and let condescension purr up the back of your throat like something cloying and bittersweet.

“I bet I could get you to open up to me,” Hara says, the self-evident innuendo bending into a seductive hum on his lips. He steps forward and tries to trap you against the brick wall at your back, his arms moving to frame you in a makeshift cage. You dart to the side and narrowly avoid his attempt to waylay you, and in the moment of brief distraction, you're able to snatch the knife out of Hanamiya's grip. You pivot on your right foot and turn sharply, not wanting to give Hara a single moment's advantage, but by the time you're pressing the edge of his best friend's blade to his throat, he already has cool steel digging in against your own. You swallow thickly and tighten your fingers on the warm handle biting into your palm.

“You're bleeding,” Hara notes, unperturbed by the knife resting against the smooth column of his throat.

“I'd say it's a small price to pay if it means getting to hurt you,” you tell him. You don't feel the pain lancing through your palm, but the mention of injury draws your attention to the titillating trickle of blood sliding between your fingers. You emit a sound that rumbles like a growl and vibrates like a purr, irritation scratching at the cages of your chest like a dangerous beast. You apply more pressure to the blade pressing against Hara's throat, a threat that lies in wait and dares whoever's willing to make the next move.

“You won't kill me,” Hara says, the cords of his throat moving against the knife's edge. “You don't have the guts.”

“It's not about _guts_ , it's about brains. I wouldn't give up my life for you, you arrogant prick.” You lower the tip of the blade to the jut of Hara's collarbone and shift your wrist in a way that writes a shallow cut into his skin. “But I _will_ hurt you.”

“You think I won't hurt you?” Hara asks, as incredulous as he is inscrutable.

You open your mouth to reply but Hara's already moving, shifting his arm and sweeping the sharp edge of his favorite knife over the delicate curve of your bare shoulder. The pain comes quick but his movements come faster and before you have an opportunity to strike, Hara's pinning you up against the wall with the sharp angle of his hips. He slams the hilt of his knife against the brick near the side of your head and stares into you like he's made from violence itself. You can feel the force of it spread through your limbs and turn to electricity beneath your fingertips. You inhale a deep breath and it's only then that you realize how rapidly your heart is pounding, almost as if it's running a race with the myriad thoughts rushing through your head like perilous rapids.

“I should make you get on your knees for me,” Hara says, and you can see the barest glint of an eye through the shaggy fall of his hair. “I should make you beg for forgiveness.”

You emit a bark of laughter that echoes on the night and makes Seto jerk into awareness. “I would rather die than submit to someone like you.” You bow your head and spit the venom coating your tongue on the ground between Hara's feet.

“ _Liar_ ,” Hara rasps, almost accusatory. “I know your devils, baby—I know them by _name_ —and there's nothing you could do to convince me that you'd trade your life for this game. You're just as stubborn as I am.” Hara ducks his head forward and you try not to flinch away despite the strands of purple hair tickling your cheek. “I'm just better at it,” he whispers, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear before he drags the flat of his tongue along the angle of your jaw.

“You're so fucking sick,” you tell him, anger sharpening the edge of your tone. You move quickly and sink your free hand into the firm resistance of his muscled abdomen. “It shouldn't come as a surprise that shit like this gets you off, and yet, here we are. You're hard” –you lower your gaze to the center of his pants deliberately– “and I'm damned, colored perpetually amazed.”

Hara sputters but recovers quickly, an airy laugh on his lips. “Well if that's the case, I'll let you in on a little secret— _it's not your color_.” His lips brush against your cheek and you don't know how he was able to close the distance so quickly but there's no time to parse the situation because the jagged edges of Hara's teeth are closing down on the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

“ _Fuck_!” you cry out involuntarily, and stomp on the top of Hara's foot reflexively, grinding down as hard as you're physically capable. The cushion of his sneaker allays some of the damage, but a sharp hiss still breaks through his teeth and you're imbued with a sense of satisfaction.

“That's just karma,” Seto says, a dark figure in the backdrop over Hara's shoulder. The comment might be amusing if you didn't hate them as much as you do, but hating them comes as naturally as breathing because they make it so _easy_.

You try to slip beneath Hara's arm but he's one step ahead of you. He wraps his arm around your waist and fights to twist you in the direction of the bricks that have—unbeknownst to you—put a number of micro-tears into your skin.

“I just want my fucking knife back,” Hanamiya says, and if you know him at all, you're sure that he's been commenting on the stolen possession since you tore it out of his grip. However, it's your first time hearing about it—in fact, you haven't heard his voice at all since then. The reason for it has nothing to do with Hanamiya's improbable lack of commentary, but the fact that Hara has somehow wedged himself into the forefront of your every thought and action. Not only has he _managed_ to monopolize you but you've _allowed_ it. Something like bile spreads out in your chest and rises up the back of your throat. The hatred you feel for Hara is tangible and you can feel it in every inch of your body. The weight of your animosity is just enough that you're able to break free from his bodily enclosure and put distance back between you.

“Come on, Hara. Let it go for tonight. This game of cat and mouse has lost its appeal,” Hanamiya says, but his eyes are on you and the object in your hand.

“Not until...” Hara trails off and the reason for it is made clear when you can make out the sound of sirens in the distance. “Shit,” he hisses.

“Better not risk it,” Seto says, though it doesn't seem as though he cares one way or another what happens tonight as long as it doesn't involve him personally.

“This isn't over,” Hara growls. He lunges forward and you don't have a chance to silence the sharp intake of breath that spills past your lips. Hara takes your shoulders in his hands and digs his fingers into contusions on your skin. “I won't let you go so easily next time.”

You writhe in Hara's unrelenting grip, seething, but just as you ready your next attack, Hara slams his lips up against your own in a violent kiss meant to bruise. He shoves you into the wall and steps back in tandem, and you can't catch your balance before you fall to the ground. You tilt your head back and narrow your eyes to slits, hoping that the glare can speak for the words you can't quite form on your lips. Hara's mouth is twisted into a wolfish grin, and for a fleeting moment, you think you can see the light of his eyes meet your own but it's gone before you can confirm the possibility.

You watch Hara walk away, Seto in tow, and when Hanamiya crouches down in front of you to reclaim his knife, you barely notice him. The weight of the blade leaves your hand without resistance and you try to deduce the very moment that created the catalyst that made you stop fighting.

“The next time you take something from me, I'll take something from _you,_ and you won't be able to get it back,” Hanamiya threatens, his breath hot against the damp of your skin.

You don't bother with a response or track Hanamiya's movements when he pushes himself upright and begins in the direction of the others. You merely stare at the outline of Hara's frame until he's nothing more than a coal-dark silhouette, an image burned into the back of your mind like an unwanted tattoo.

The pavement is cold beneath you and the bricks at your back offer even less comfort. You need to move but wanting alone isn't enough to get you back on your feet. Something feels different about tonight—and it's more than the kiss that still tingles on your lips and the blood that stains your skin—it's far greater than anything you can piece together. You feel dirty and numb and helpless, and it isn't until you start thinking about the things that have touched on the places holding you up that you finally regain the ability to move.

You force your body into standing and inhale the muggy night into your lungs. Your hands are shaking and your knees feel weak but nothing compares to the wealth of emotion cauterizing the plague that Hara's put in your bones. You reach into your back pocket and withdraw your cell phone, your reflection stippled by the stars that catch on its screen.

You scroll through your contacts and press down on a name with more force than strictly necessary, the phone almost slipping from your slick fingers as you lift it to your ear. It rings several times before a male voice crackles through the speaker and purrs itself into honeyed sound. You swallow thickly and begin walking in the direction opposite to the one you traveled earlier, absentmindedly retracing the steps of your past.

“Imayoshi-san, I need to speak with you. I'm on my way to your house. I think you're going to find what I have to tell you worth your time. Things are about to get _very_ interesting.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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